


Lay your head

by SinNotAlone



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29245320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinNotAlone/pseuds/SinNotAlone
Summary: Badly injured and on the run, Din Djarin needs a place to heal and hide. Boba Fett gives him that and learns that the wounds Din bears are more than just physical. He’ll need to get closer to help with the insidious scars.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 42
Kudos: 384





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much a comfort fic I wrote for me: sometimes soft, sometimes hard, and tonally kinda weird.

Din crouched beside the platform where Slave I was docked. He kept his hand pressed to his skin to stop the bleeding and waited.

The feet that passed by weren’t Fett’s, so he stayed silent. Or as close to silent as he could manage with a blaster bolt to his side. Overhead, a ship idled while waiting to dock. The roar of its engines masked his furious panting.

The longer he waited, the more the platform warped and swayed. He blinked rapidly, trying to hold on.

Another set of footsteps approached. Din peered above the railing. Finally, green Mandalorian armor. He dragged himself over the barrier and collapsed at Fett’s feet.

“You look like hell,” Fett greeted him.

“I messed up,” Din gasped.

“Apparently.”

“Need a place to lay low for a while.”

“Good choice. This place is as low as you can get.”

Din made the mistake of breathing, and brilliant pain seared through his rib cage. He curled in on himself and said, “I meant—”

Fett interrupted, “I know.”

He slid a cautious hand under Din’s knees. When Din didn’t stop him, he looped the other hand around his back and pulled him into the air. Din groaned loud enough for the vocoder to amplify it. He couldn’t hold on to Fett, not with one arm staunching the bleeding and the other sprained or broken. Each step Fett took rumbled through Din’s bones like a clap of thunder. He lay his head against Fett’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

Din woke in the medbay on Slave I. His helmet was gone. His fight suit lay on the floor in tatters. He looked around the cramped cabin frantically but winced when he turned his neck too far.

“Had to,” Fett said and gestured to the mess on the floor.

Fett’s knees cracked as he squatted beside Din. In his hands he held Din’s helmet. Din tried to move his right arm, but a sling held it in place. Bandages swathed his torso. A few drops of blood had saturated the dressing, spoiling the bleached gauze in a way that made him feel like he’d sinned.

Din opened his mouth to speak but coughed instead, his throat filled with needles. A straw appeared in front of his face, and he leaned forward to take it in his mouth. Even that tiny movement made him flinch, and he had to try a second time before he could take a sip of water. He still sputtered half of it onto his chin, and Fett dabbed at it with his sleeve.

After Din swallowed a few mouthfuls without coughing it up, Fett put a steadying hand on his shoulder and stabbed a needle into it.

“Rest,” he said.

Din opened his mouth but didn’t get the chance to ask his question. The darkness took him too quickly.

The lights in the room were off the next time Din woke. He tried to shift onto his side, but an aborted attempt made apparent the risk of aggravating the wound. He thought better of it, and stayed on his back.

Fett stood in the doorway, a solid black silhouette against the red panels flickering behind him. Din wondered how much time Fett had spent watching him, for him to be waiting each time he woke.

“We’ll be leaving hyperspace soon,” Fett said. “You going to be able to handle it?”

Handle lying still on his back? Din arched his spine slightly and whimpered before he could stop himself. With no helmet to hold in the sound, his body was too honest. He genuinely didn’t know if he could handle the jump, even covered in bacta and full of whatever Fett had shot him up with.

Fett crept to Din’s side. “I won’t judge you. I’d rather know what I’m dealing with.”

“No,” Din mouthed.

Fett removed one glove. He gently brushed Din’s hair from back his sweaty forehead and smoothed it out of the way. Then he lay his bare hand on the exposed skin. The sound Fett made wasn’t good.

Fett’s hand was hot as a fire iron on Din’s skin. He tried to shrink away from it.

“Easy,” Fett said.

The burning hand disappeared for a moment, and Din relaxed. The hand returned with a syringe of amber liquid. At least Din was expecting the needle the second time. In the brief moment before things went black, Din felt Fett’s hand brush against his cheek.

Fett woke him after they’d landed. Din was glad to have been spared the turbulence. His stomach was sour, and retching would be intolerable.

“Where are we?” Din asked.

“Tatooine.”

A hand, gloved this time, touched his shoulder. Din didn’t shrug it off. The weight of it let him know that this wasn’t a dream. Fett moved to slip the other hand under Din’s legs, to gather him in his arms again.

“I can—” Din said and tried to swing his legs over the bunk.

Fett caught him before he collapsed. “No, you can’t.”

He eased Din back until he was halfway on the bunk. Din steadied his hands on the hard bed and tried to lift himself, but it was futile. His muscles weren’t awake enough to support him.

“It’s night. No one will see,” Fett reassured.

Covered in bloody bandages and wearing only his underwear, Din certainly hoped no one would see Fett carrying him like a child.

With a little coaxing, Fett maneuvered Din so he was resting entirely in his lap. “Stay still. The last thing you need is a broken leg.” Only after Din had proved that he wasn’t going to fight it this time did Fett stand. He supported Din in his arms as if he weighed nothing.

Din dreaded the first step that Fett took, but the jostling didn’t hurt him the way it should have. He licked his cracked lips and realized that they too were void of sensation. He throat began to tighten, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“I can’t feel,” Din said.

“I know. You won’t be able to for a few more hours.”

“Hours?”

Din scratched at his neck, desperate to feel something. The pressure of his fingernails he sensed, but no sting from the scratch. It felt like being halfway dead.

Fett snaked his arm around to capture Din’s wrist. “Stop that.” He shifted Din’s weight and tucked the errant hand against his own.

“I don’t think you’ll like feeling too much, when this wears off,” Fett said. “Try not to make it worse.”

The hot desert sand swirled thick around them as Fett disembarked the ship. Fett had been right; no one loitered outside. Din didn’t try to make sense of the strange palace that towered before them. His eyes stung from the dry air, and when he blinked his eyelids seemed to stick, so he closed them and let Fett carry him. They soon became too heavy to open, even when he wanted to.

A loud beep preceded the whir of a door opening, then the air became cooler, cleaner. A steep incline made Fett grip him tighter, and Din burrowed his chin in the crook of Fett’s shoulder. After another set of doors, Fett stopped. Din found himself lowered onto a soft surface, a sheet tucked around his hips.

“I’ll be back later,” Fett whispered.

Din was so near sleep that the words barely registered.

~~~

It was the pain that woke him. It had returned, worse, if that was even possible.

His fingers trembled as he peeled back the corner of the dressing to look at the wound. A black crater in his skin, ringed by swollen red. He quickly replaced the gauze and swallowed the taste of bile in his mouth. Din was absolutely not going to cry.

He needed help. He didn’t know where Fett had gone. He didn’t know if there was anyone around to hear him cry. He felt like he’d slept for only minutes, but it must have been hours for the pain to be this bad.

The bed he lay on was narrow, the small room it occupied an angular slice of some larger apartment. Din called into the shadows. His voice came out a hoarse croak, but he managed to form Fett’s name. Boots echoed across tile in response.

“Din,” Fett said and flipped on the lights.

Din blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Fett carried an armful of bandages. He no longer wore his armor, only the rough black clothes he’d had on when Din first encountered him on Tython. The first time he’d accidentally come to Din’s rescue. Din hardly expected there to be a second, or a third.

With no creed to keep, it hardly mattered whether Fett wore the armor or not. Din decided he liked him unarmored better. The humanity of his scarred face made Din feel at ease.

Fett poured a glass of water from a pitcher that sat on the bedside table. The only other thing in the room, besides the table and the bed, was an arm chair. It had been pulled away from the wall to occupy a highly inconvenient position for anyone trying to maneuver the cramped space. Fett walked around it and crouched beside Din. He set down the bandages and balanced the glass while he fiddled for something in his pocket.

“Think you can you keep this down?” he said and handed Din two tablets. They were that tepid shade of pink that drug manufacturers thought would make them easier to swallow.

Din had no idea if he could swallow them, much less keep them down. He opened his mouth to find out and reached for the glass, but Fett didn’t let him take it. Din sighed and let his hand fall to the bed.

Fett raised the glass and explained, “You’ll make a mess.”

“Fine,” Din garbled around the mouthful of pills.

Once Din had folded his hands in his lap, Fett held the glass to his lips. He tipped a tiny bit of water in, then a bit more. The moisture soothed the parched skin and pooled on his tongue. Before his mouth overflowed, Din pulled away and swallowed. The pills went down, thought it felt like he was swallowing a rather large stone.

Fett returned the glass to the nightstand then took a seat at the foot of the bed. Din knew he should say something. Thank him. Offer him payment. His mind cycled through the options without settling on one.

Fett stopped the cycle. “You going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, sounding more curious than aggravated.

Din cleared his throat. He wished he’d asked for more water, but doing so now would seem like a ploy to delay things. “I saw your ship land,” he said.

Fett considered Din’s explanation, and an incredulous crease formed on his forehead. “And you decided it would be a nice place to get shot?”

“Didn’t get shot there.”

“Where then?” Fett asked.

“In a tavern. In the slums. Hid in an alley ‘til I saw your ship.” Din paused then added, “Don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t.” Slave I had appeared like a divine apparition when Din was making peace with the prospect of a slow death.

“Quimar tavern?”

“Yeah,” Din said.

Fett crossed his arms and took his time before he spoke. “What were you doing there? That place is rough even for the likes of me.”

“Collecting a bounty.” What else would he have been doing there? Did Fett really think he’d get involved in that kind of scene?

“And the bounty didn’t want to be collected?”

“No,” Din said. “A spy for the Empire. He’d been caught by the Republic but got away. Got away again, I guess.”

Fett frowned then brushed his hand over his mouth to obscure his expression. “You’ve dealt with plenty of Imps. Why’d this one trip you up?”

“He knew. About the child. About the Jedi.” Din’s voice began to waver. “Said the Empire was waiting. That they’d be collecting him when the time was right.”

“Oh,” Fett said, hushed like he wasn’t sure he should be speaking.

Din gripped the blanket with sweaty palms, and his sprained wrist throbbed. He hadn’t expected Fett to be able to fix things, but his wary reaction made the threat seem real in a way that it hadn’t before. It wasn’t just his mind blowing things out of proportion.

Something inside him cracked, and though his throat was raw, Din babbled on, “When he said all that, I forgot which side my blaster was on. Then I missed my shot. Hit the guy behind him.” Din coughed to ease his throat. “He must have been important, because the whole place turned on me. Now I’ve got the Empire and the cartel after me.”

Din wheezed in uneven bursts and grimaced at the pain. Fett made a shushing noise and grabbed the glass of water. He held it to Din’s lips, and Din took a sip, but a cough shook him and the water bubbled out of his mouth, cold rivulets streaming down his neck. Choking wouldn’t help the situation, so he turned his face away from the glass. Fett cradled the back of Din’s head in his hand, lifting it slightly off the pillow. With his assistance, Din was able to swallow enough water to soothe his throat.

“No more talking,” Fett reprimanded and set aside the glass.

“But when—”

Fett stopped him, “Is it important?”

Din nodded. He should have asked it first thing. “When you boarded the ship, was anyone around?”

“I was a little preoccupied, but no, I don’t think so.”

Din relaxed his clenched fists. He’d slipped out of the tavern when the shootout became an aimless brawl among thugs eager for a fight. His target had already fled, so Din had dragged himself as far as he could before collapsing behind a dumpster. But the cartel’s eyes were all over the slums, no doubt watching the port too.

Fett ran a finger over the edge of the bandages that covered Din from hip to chest. “Those pills should have kicked in. Let’s take a look at you.”

The pain had faded to a bearable level, but when Din tried to sit up, his side seized and he flopped back onto the bed. He couldn’t use his stomach muscles without feeling like he was being blow apart.

Fett neatened the pile of medical supplies he’d brought then slid his hand under Din’s shoulder. “Let me,” he said.

Din didn’t have any other options. The wound needed tending to. He let Fett lift him off the bed and bend him so he sat up.

“Lean against me,” Fett said and draped one of Din’s arms around his neck, as if they were embracing.

Din perched his chin on Fett’s shoulder, and the wool of Fett’s cowl tickled the delicate skin on his neck. The fabric smelled like oiled beskar and Fett’s warmth.

Din went limp as Fett’s tentative hands slipped under the edge of the bandage and began unraveling it, exposing his chest. It was silly to feel shy now. Fett was the one who had stripped him bare and bandaged him in the first place. That didn’t make it any easier when Fett’s hands brushed against his nipple. He took a sharp breath. Pain immediately followed, and he let out a whimper.

“Careful,” Fett said. His voice was a low rumble against Din’s ear.

If he weren’t so beat, Din might have savored the intimacy of words spoken like that. But the pad of gauze was stuck to the wound, and Fett’s skilled fingers were teasing it apart a fraction of an inch at a time. When the blood soaked gauze fell away, Fett made a pleased sound, then set about applying a cool bacta mist to the wound.

A little of the pain dulled immediately, and Din was able to tolerate a new piece of gauze being pressed to the wound. It took some maneuvering for Fett to thread the roll of bandages between their bodies. One hand stretched the material and the other smoothed it over Din’s skin. The tension was enough to hold the dressing tight without causing too much discomfort. Fett must have accumulated enough experience dressing himself to be competent at this sort of thing.

Fett stopped short of Din’s chest and secured the dressing over his sternum. His thumb traveled between Din’s pectoral muscles as he assessed the bandage for imperfections. Once satisfied, he guided Din back to the bed.

“Slow. I’ll take your weight,” Fett said.

Din let himself be heavy. Fett handled him like caring for him was the easiest thing and not the burden Din knew it to be. Before laying Din’s head on the pillow, he made sure to position it properly. He didn’t slip his arm out from under Din’s back until he relaxed against the mattress.

Din observed the fresh bandage. It covered his wound perfectly fine, but Fett had wrapped it in a fashion that seemed to put him on display. His chest swelled above the tight weave of the fabric. Bruises peeked out from the bandage, painting the bulk of his right pectoral muscle a mottled purple. There was no reason to wrap him any higher—his chest wasn’t wounded—but Din still wished he were covered to his neck.

“You good?” Fett asked. He looked from Din’s bandaged torso to his face.

“Yeah.” Din raised his eyes to meet Fett’s. “Thank you.” He could have sworn a faint blush colored Fett’s bronze skin, but he was too tired to think much of it.

~~~

It took Din longer than he’d expected to be able to do simple things without pain getting in the way. Bathing, eating, even breathing. He endured it in a doped up haze, mostly unconscious—the fastest way to pass the time. Days went by, maybe a full week, before he was willing to refuse the pills Fett offered him.

“You sure?” Fett asked.

Din turned his head away and said, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t be stubborn.” Fett glowered. “You just about died.”

“I’d like to be awake for more than fifteen minutes.”

Fett closed his fingers around the pink pills. “Tell me if it gets to be too much.”

Din nodded. He puts his palms to the mattress and pushed himself up to a semi-seated position, to prove he could do so without Fett’s assistance. He sat slightly hunched, the only way to keep from straining the scabbed over pit on his side. An attempt to straighten his spine ended with a swallowed shudder.

Fett’s weight settled beside him on the bed. “Let me see how you’re healing.”

Din touched the collar of the shirt Fett had given him. It gaped at his neck, and he tucked his chin down to cover his exposed collarbone.

“No need to be shy,” Fett said.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Din tried to brush him off.

“Have to watch for infection. I’ve seen it happen this late before.”

Din bit his tongue and pulled the shirt over his head. As he rolled it into a ball, he looked straight ahead, at the doorway. He could see a sitting area, part of the suit of rooms that belonged to Fett, he’d learned. What lay beyond that, he didn’t know.

When he felt Fett’s fingers on him, he tensed. He wore a smaller bandage now, and one of Fett’s fingers touched bare skin. Fett waited for him to relax before peeling back the bandage. “No worse than yesterday,” he pronounced.

Din looked at Fett’s hand fondly smoothing the bandage. He released a shaky breath. “You like seeing me this way?” he asked.

Fett’s hand stopped moving. “I like seeing you.”

“Yeah?” Din quietly replied.

Fett touched the bare skin of Din’s chest, his fingers whisper light. Goosebumps bloomed in their wake, and Din’s nipples tightened to little peaks. It was too much. Suddenly, an unbearable weight crushed his chest. He jerked away from Fett and gasped for air.

Fett’s hand dropped to the bed with a resounding thud. He made no move to pursue Din. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Din wanted Fett to do more than see him. He wanted to feel his hands everywhere. Why couldn’t he tolerate such a slight touch? Had his body learned that pain was the consequence of every stimulus?

“Are you afraid?” Fett asked.

“I don’t think so.” Din closed his eyes and concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest to calm himself. Once his pulse had returned to nearly normal, he looked at Fett.

Fett’s brow was lined with concern. Din thought of asking Fett to try it again. Maybe he wouldn’t react that way a second time, if it wasn’t such a surprise. But if he did pull away, it would make Fett feel even worse. He couldn’t risk doing that. Not with everything Fett had done for him.

Fett broke the silence. “Sit back.”

Din was grateful for Fett’s guidance. He reclined on the bed, propped up by two pillows. His shirt still sat in a crumpled ball by his knees. He could have asked Fett to help him into it. That would have put an end to whatever Fett was trying to start. Instead, Din stared at the spot on the bed where he’d sat moments ago. He was too afraid to look at Fett.

“Do you touch yourself there, when you’re alone?” Fett asked calmly.

Din’s eyes widened. “Sometimes,” he stuttered.

“Show me how you do it.”

Blood rushed to Din’s cock. It swelled in his briefs, and he knew Fett could see the outline from where he sat.

Din wanted to show him, but his hands were made of lead. He slowly brought one hand to his chest and ran a finger over his nipple. Part of him expected the same horrible reaction as before, but nothing bad happened. He cupped under the soft swell of his pectoral and squeezed lightly.

That wasn’t how he touched himself though. Somehow, he felt that Fett would know if he showed him anything but the truth.

Din slipped two fingers into his mouth and laved his tongue over them, making sure they were thoroughly wet. Then he spread the cool slick on his nipple. It tightened even more. He captured it between his forefinger and thumb and twisted until he felt the sweet twinge he was looking for.

Fett let out a harsh breath, almost like someone had hit him. He sat far enough away that Din wouldn’t be able to touch him, even if he reached for him. Din felt guilty, realizing that Fett didn’t think he’d be allowed any closer.

Fett’s hand slipped into his lap. Din noted the rhythmic motion of his forearm as he touched his cock through his pants. Din’s own cock leaked a dark spot on the fabric of his briefs, but he ignored it. Fett had told him to touch his nipples, not his cock.

“Keep going.” Fett’s voice was raw in a way that Din hadn’t heard before.

Din sucked the fingers on his left hand then gave the same treatment the other nipple. He tugged until the dusky pink skin darkened to red. When the pain became too much, he wet his fingers again and soothed the soreness. He relished the slight burn of saliva on the abraded skin and let out a breathy sound of satisfaction. Fett’s full lips curled into a smile. Din wondered how they might feel pressed where his hands were now.

Fett unbuckled his belt, and Din averted his eyes, feeling like he’d been caught peeping. When he looked back at Fett, his hand was wrapped around his cock. It was thick and perfect, and Din wondered if he’d ever pull himself together enough to be able to touch it.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Fett said.

Din blinked at the term of endearment. No one had ever called him that before. For a moment, it made warmth suffuse his chest, but then he wondered what he’d done to warrant it. Was he really so bad at hiding his feelings that Fett thought he needed soothe him? He felt exposed without his helmet, like Fett could see into his mind.

“You’re beautiful like this.”

Din lowered his eyes. His hands dropped to the bed, and he gripped his thighs through the sheets. The dull throb in his side returned. He was surprised he’d forgotten about it for this long, though Fett had certainly provided a worthy distraction.

“Look at me,” Fett coaxed.

Din complied. When he saw the fevered look on Fett’s face, he almost shut his eyes. It was too intimate. It took immense effort for him to keep his eyes open, knowing Fett was reading every shift in his expression.

Fett turned so his cock was fully on display and rolled his hips forward. “See what watching you did to me,” he said and stroked himself languidly, in no hurry to finish. “Ever since I patched you up, I’ve been thinking about your pretty face. And not much else.”

Din felt a foreign sense of power. He hadn’t done anything beyond what Fett had asked of him, but it had been enough to make him cast aside his usual indifference.

“So good at doing what you’re told.” Fett swept his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the shiny slick. “Go ahead, touch your cock for me.”

Din slid a hand into his briefs. He’d leaked a little pool of precome on his belly, and when he ran a finger through it, his stomach clenched. The slight movement made pain flare in his side. He let go of his cock and groaned.

In a second, Fett had tucked himself back in his pants and rushed to Din’s side. The hungry look on his face was replaced by a frown.

“I’m fine,” Din said. Relatively fine at least, but he didn’t want Fett’s pity.

Fett shook his head. “Tell me if you’re hurting next time.”

Din would agree to just about anything, if it meant that there would be a next time. “I will,” he said, not knowing if he’d be able to keep his word.


	2. Chapter 2

Fett had left pills on Din’s nightstand, next to a glass of water. Din wasn’t sure if he lasted minutes or hours before he got desperate enough to take them. The room was without windows and there was no way to tell how much time had passed. He waited until it felt like flames were licking at his stomach. Until every breath he took made him wish he would suffocate instead. Only then did he stagger out of bed and swallow them.

He collapsed on the bed without bothering to crawl under the blankets. Sweat beaded on his skin. He covered his face with his hands and breathed through the cracks between his fingers.

When he reached the point where the pain had dulled but his mind was still sharp, he let his hands slip away. He looked at the foot of the bed and thought of Fett. His warm brown eyes studying him, seeing things in Din that he hadn’t meant to show him.

Why had he pulled away from Fett’s gentle touch? It was true that Din was a bit out of practice, but Fett was everything he could have asked for. How could he possibly get Fett to treat him rough and force him to his knees when he couldn’t take the touch of his fingertip? Fett would think he was too fragile.

He had to get out of this bed, this room. Get his bearings. Shown Fett that he wasn’t broken. When he woke up. When he wasn’t held prisoner by his body.

~~~

After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Din slipped his shirt on and padded out into the sitting room. High windows framed slices of faint pink clouds. Dawn was breaking, though Din doubted that Fett was the type to rise with the suns. He’d need to be quiet to avoid waking him.

The door to Fett’s bedroom was open. Din crept closer but wasn’t bold enough to step foot through the door. Fett lay on his back in an enormous bed, the sheets tucked around his waist. His broad chest was bare, and in the dim morning light, he looked like a figure that had been carved from boa-wood and lovingly polished.

Din took a step back, and Fett’s eyes opened. His first instinct was to run, but that would be ridiculous. Fett wasn’t a krayt dragon, and Din had nowhere to hide besides his own bed.

“You don’t need to lurk out there,” Fett said through a yawn. “Your welcome anywhere in my rooms.”

Din put one foot through the doorway. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I heard you leave your room.” Fett stretched his arms over his head. “I’m a light sleeper. Habits and all.”

Din nodded. He knew what it was like to sleep in stolen bursts, ready to spring to his feet at the slightest sound. To never feel truly rested.

Fett sat up and folded back the sheets. “Need something?”

“No. Just needed to get out of bed.” He needed to show Fett that he could leave it.

“You’ll want something to wear if you’re going to poke around.” Fett swung his pajama clad legs over the side of the bed.

The shirt that Fett had given Din hung to the top of his thighs. He tugged at it, as if it might grow to cover his naked legs. At least it kept Fett from seeing his cock, which had plumped at the sight of his bare chest.

“Are there others here?” Din asked.

Fett got out of bed and crossed the room. “Fennec, a few staff, depending on the day. I never liked too many people around,” he said and opened a closet door.

Before Din could come up with a reason to turn down his offer, Fett was rifling through a rack of clothes. He draped a few pairs of pants over his arm, then set about inspecting his shirts.

“Might be a bit big.” He set the armful of clothing down on a bench. “Hand me that shirt. It could use a wash.”

Din crossed his legs, trying to will his erection down, but he couldn’t wait forever. He peeled off his wrinkled shirt and handed it over. A slight smile might have formed on Fett’s lips, but he made no comment.

Din grabbed a pair of pants and stepped into them. They were loose around the waist, but nothing a belt wouldn’t fix. Fett was ahead of him, already plucking one from his collection. He held the belt at arm’s length for Din to take. Din wished that Fett would thread it around his waist himself. He didn’t want Fett’s cautious respect. He didn’t want to be reminded that he needed it.

Fett leaned back against the closet door as Din cinched the belt to gather the excess fabric. When Din looked up from bucking the belt, Fett straightened.

“What?” Din asked.

Fett chewed his lip. “Does something to me. Seeing you in my clothes.”

Warmth pooled in Din’s belly, and his cock swelled. He was glad that Fett’s clothes were too big for him, if it made Fett feel like that. “Yeah?”

“You look like you’re wearing…” Fett trailed off with an almost embarrassed look on his face.

Din tilted his head in question. Fett wasn’t usually afraid speak his mind. “Like?”

Fett looked Din up and down. “Like you’re wearing your Daddy’s clothes.”

That word coming from Fett’s lips made Din weak at the knees. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, deciding what to say. “And, you like that?” he settled on.

“Yes,” Fett said confidently. “Do you?”

Din didn’t have to think about the answer, but it took time for him to say it. He ran his hands over the linen covering his thighs then admitted, “I do.”

“I didn’t mean.” Fett paused. “About the clothes. I meant—”

“About being Daddy?” Din offered hesitantly.

Fett’s jaw clenched when Din said it. He nodded.

Din’s skin went cold as he worked up the courage to respond. “You want me to call you that?”

“Yes.” Fett tacked on, “If you want to.”

Din took a slow breath. He wanted to so much, but if he screwed it up, it would be like last night but worse. Fett already thought that he was too damaged to touch. Din didn’t want Fett to worry about every word he said as well.

Din looked straight at Fett. “I do, Daddy,” he said with a slight hitch.

Fett’s lips twitched, not quiet forming a smile. “It’s more than just a word, you know.”

Din nodded. He didn’t know how Fett defined it, but he imagined it was something like what he’d been doing the past week, caring for Din.

“You want me to be that way, with you?” Fett asked.

“Aren’t you already?” Din said.

Fett blinked and pressed his lips together. Din wished that he would say what he wanted to say. He didn’t need to hold back so much, but Din was hardly one to judge him for it.

Instead of answering Din’s question, Fett grabbed a shirt and handed it to Din. “No one’s ever treated you right, and it shows,” he said.

Din grabbed the shirt but set it down. He took two steps to close the distance between them. Fett’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Din cupped his stubbled cheeks with both hands. A tremor ran through Din as he waited to see if Fett would retreat, as Fett waited to see if Din would crumble. When neither wavered, Din brushed their lips together. It was barely a kiss.

Din pulled away with his pulse thrumming in his ears. Fett touched his lips like he needed to make sure that what he had felt was real. He eyed Din with something between suspicion and reverence.

Din picked up the shirt again and slipped it over his head.

~~~

Fett had given Din permission to explore the palace, but Din didn’t take him up on the offer. Instead he’d stuck close to Fett throughout the morning, as he ate breakfast and replied to correspondence. In his head, he’d practiced saying the word the Fett wanted to hear. The word he wanted to say without stuttering.

When it came time for Fett to meet with a client, he’d asked Din if he’d like to come along. Din debated the invitation as he watched Fett don his armor. It was curious how the armor had been important enough to track across the galaxy, but he didn’t seem weaker without it, just different. Din wondered how long it had taken after he’d lost it before Fett learned to feel comfortable in his own skin.

Once he’d finished dressing, Fett opened the adjacent locker. Din’s armor was packed inside the narrow space. There was still dried blood on the beskar. Din looked away. It was too much like seeing a corpse.

“Want to suit up, if you’re coming?” Fett asked. He picked up Din’s helmet and offered it to him.

Din was tempted to embrace the security being offered, but he waved his hand in dismissal. “No. The wrong person sees me in that and the cartel will be knocking at your door. And the Empire, they won’t bother knocking.”

Fett eyed Din incredulously. “Maybe.” He placed the helmet back in the locker.

Once the helmet was stowed, Din shut the locker door. Before Din let go of the handle, Fett ran his fingers over Din’s knuckles. Din fought the instinct to pull away and gripped the handle tight to stop from shaking. Slowly, Fett worked him thumb under Din’s palm and traced the life lines down to his wrist.

“You going to go out there like that? In my clothes?” Fett asked.

“Yes,” Din said. Quickly he added, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good.”

Fett took Din’s hand in his and raised it to his mouth. Din’s stomached tightened in anticipation. When Fett pressed a faint kiss to the back of it, Din let out a loud exhale. He felt like his legs might fold, so he locked his knees. Cautiously, Fett turned his hand over and kissed the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. He parted hip lips, and Din felt the hot flicker of his tongue.

When Din flexed his fingers, Fett let go of him. Din cradled the hand that Fett had held against his chest. He gingerly touched the spot where he’d felt Fett’s tongue. Fett’s eyes searched Din’s face. Din wished he’d taken his helmet when it was offered, if only for a few minutes of privacy.

“Sure you want to come along?” Fett asked.

“I can’t take another day cooped up in that room.”

Fett checked his chrono. “Better head out.”

Din followed Fett down the crooked maze of hallways to the heart of the palace. When they reached the throne room, he hung back. The client was already waiting in front of the throne. Din edged into an alcove. He stayed silent and still, afraid to draw attention to himself until he knew what the client was seeking.

Fett approached the dais with his chin held high, every bit the warlord he’d made himself into. When he reached the throne, he settled into it with a relaxed stance. He let his knees splay wide and curled his fingers around the arms of the imposing seat.

Din wasn’t one for posturing, but Fett fit the role so naturally that it didn’t seem like an act. Din wanted to settle at his feet, to be fixed to the posts at the base of the throne. Fett’s presence commanded obeisance. Someday, Din might be brave enough to debase himself.

With a lift of his chin Fett beckoned the client closer. The Mirialan stepped forward. A heavy cloak hung from his shoulders, his sallow green hands peeking out of the folds. Din was sure that Fennec had screened him before he entered the palace, but he was surprised that the man had been allowed to keep such a cloak on. It provided plenty of space to stow a blaster, or worse.

Din reached for his hip, to reassure himself with the cold steel holstered there. When he felt nothing, his hand cramped. His blaster was locked away with his armor. He gripped the fabric of the loose pants just to keep his hand occupied.

“Lord Fett,” the man said and bowed low.

Fett let the man hang at the end of his line. He watched him shuffle and sweep the cloak away from his feet. Eventually, Fett said, “You need my help?”

“I have a shipment of pure Corellian spice you might be interested in,” the man quickly explained.

Fett put his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “I don’t deal spice. Too messy. Not worth my time.”

The man’s shoulders slumped. “A shame. I see. My apologies.”

“But I could find you a buyer,” Fett said.

“That would be most appreciated.” The man put his hands together and bowed once more.

“For a twenty percent cut.”

“Fifteen,” the man said with little force behind his demand.

Fett sat up straight, putting his armored chest on display. “Twenty.”

“Twenty it is. A most reasonable offer, Lord Fett.”

“I’ll have a name tomorrow,” Fett said in a dull tone.

“Very good. Until then.”

Fett nodded. It took a moment for the Mirialan to realize that the exchange was over. After bowing a third time, he pulled the cloak around himself and turned to leave. As he walked past the alcove, Din could see his tattooed chin quiver. The man didn’t notice Din. Din doubted he’d notice a bantha if it wasn’t immediately in front of him, with the way he was focused on the exit.

Fett waited until the man had disappeared up the stairs before standing. Din wished he’d stayed seated a little bit longer. That way, Din might have stood before the throne just like the Mirialan had, to get the full effect of Fett’s theater. He could hardly ask Fett to indulge him like that though.

Fett walked to where Din waited and took off his helmet.

“That was quick,” Din said.

Fett shrugged. “He should have done his research.”

Din looked around the cavernous, empty room. “You said there were others here.”

“Fennec must still be outside.” Fett glanced toward the stairs, like he might spot her. “Don’t need anyone else today.”

“If you change your mind,” Din offered.

“Can you cook?” A wry smile played at Fett’s lips.

Din rolled his eyes. “You know what I’m saying.”

“I’ve looked after myself well enough.” Fett patted his refinished chest plate. “Don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I can’t do nothing. Spending this much time in one place, it’s not what I’m used to.” Din worried that he might sound ungrateful, but he’d been seeking bounties so long that more than a few days without moving on left him restless. Now that he wasn’t doped every hour of the day, the urge had returned. He had to fight it, because he wouldn’t find a better place in the galaxy to hide than right here.

“You don’t need to do anything. Especially not in the state you’re in,” Fett said.

“I owe you, after all you’ve done for me.”

Fett put his hands on his hips. “You’re not a client. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But—” Din started.

Fett cut him off. “You can stay here as long as you like. You’re my guest. Don’t need to pay me back.”

Fett didn’t understand. Din needed to be useful. Bounty hunting might not serve a noble purpose, but it gave him something concrete to focus on. These days, his mind hopped between disasters, from the threats the spy had made to the cartel boss with a blaster bolt through his head.

When Din didn’t respond, Fett leaned closer and continued, “Listen, I like you needy, but you’re in no shape to fight.”

He was being needy. Din hadn’t realized it until Fett pointed it out, but this wasn’t about whether Fett needed a guard, or even whether Din owed him. It was Din being unable to stand the quiet of his own mind. If Fett said yes now, he’d be taking Din on as a charity case. And he’d already done that twice.

“I’m sorry,” Din mumbled.

“No need to be sorry, sweetheart.”

Fett nuzzled against Din’s hair, making a strand of it tickle his cheek. He braced his hands on either side of Din’s head. It was close to a trap.

“You good?” Fett asked, his breath hot against Din’s neck.

Din wanted it to be fine, but the tight feeling in his chest wasn’t just a thrill. He ignored the part of him that wanted to run. “Yes, Daddy,” he lied.

Fett stood back and looked at Din like he didn’t believe him. “You need to rest?” he asked.

“Probably should.” Din relaxed against the wall.

“Why don’t you head back to my room. I’ll be there once I’ve found a buyer.”

~~~

Din didn’t lie down, not even for a minute. He didn’t want to rest. He paced at the foot of Fett’s bed, hoping to tire himself out before Fett was done with business. Maybe that way, he’d be able to lie down next to Fett without flinching.

When he heard the outer door slide open, Din climbed onto the comforter and lay on his back. He stared at the ceiling and didn’t glance toward the door until Fett quietly cleared his throat. Fett had stripped his armor off and was left in the black woolens he favored. Din wanted to rest his head on his soft chest and listen to the steady thrum of his heart. For now, he’d have to settle for imagining what it would feel like.

Fett circled the bed to sit on the other side, then pulled off his boots. Din rolled onto his side to make room for him, though it wasn’t necessary on a bed that size. With the way he was curled up, Din occupied only a quarter of it.

Din felt the mattress shift as Fett reclined next to him. He remembered to breathe through his nose, four beats to inhale and four out. It didn’t help ease the burn in his lungs. He pillowed an arm under his head and peeked at the web of scar tissue where Fett’s ear lobe had once been. Scars like that were honest, Din thought, unlike whatever was wrong with him.

Fett studied the ceiling with the same close consideration that Din had given it. Din uncurled his legs, and Fett caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to face Din, and his eyes crinkled with a faint smile.

Din slid one hand along the surface of the comforter. When he nearly reached Fett, he stopped. Fett raised his brow in question. Din swallowed the thick feeling in his mouth and nodded.

Fett covered Din’s hand with his own. His palm was so much wider than Din’s that he engulfed it. Din wasn’t used to being small that way. It made it easier to accept the touch. Fett curled his fingers, threading them through Din’s. Din let him wedge his fingers apart, though he wanted to squeeze them shut.

After Din relaxed under the weight of his hand, Fett asked, “Did it help, touching yourself like that for me?”

“Help?” Din rasped.

“You were able to touch me afterward, are able to touch me now.”

Din’s heart was going a thousand beats per minute, but it was true that he hadn’t pulled away, yet. “Maybe,” he said.

“Want to try again?” Fett asked.

“Why don’t you try touching me first?” Din suggested.

Din edged his hand out from under Fett’s. He grabbed Fett by the wrist, intending to show him how to touch, but lost his nerve and let go. Fett gave him a curious look.

As Din peeled off his shirt, Fett propped himself up on one elbow. He stared openly at the skin revealed. Din tossed the shirt on the floor and crawled up the bed to settle against the headboard. He left space between his body and Fett’s—far enough that Fett wouldn’t brush against him by accident. Fett would need to be intentional if he wanted to touch Din. When Fett’s hand reached for his collarbone, Din prepared himself. He stretched his neck, yielding his bare throat.

Even with the faintest touch, Fett’s calloused fingers scratched slightly. Din dug his heels into the bed, every muscle in his body strung tight. Fett trailed down Din’s sternum to the spot he’d touched when he’d bandaged him. A small sigh escaped Din, and he leaned into Fett’s caress.

“Good,” Fett said then pressed two of his fingers to Din’s lips. “Open.”

Din parted his lips and took Fett inside. He could taste the metallic note of his armor and the salt on his skin. He let saliva pool on his tongue then spread it along the two thick fingers.

Fett shifted so he could push the fingers deeper into Din’s mouth. Din fought to accept it, swallowing around them. When Din’s lips brushed the joint of his hand, Fett kept it there briefly, filling him all the way before withdrawing. A trail of saliva hung between Din’s open mouth and Fett’s glistening fingers. Din ran his tongue over his wet lips, and it snapped.

As Fett spread the slick on one of his nipples, Din shivered. He clenched his jaw and didn’t make a sound.

“You’re okay,” Fett whispered. He pinched the rapidly tightening bud.

Din ached under Fett’s thumb, an ache that traveled down to his hard cock. He rolled his hips but the loose pants provided little relief. Fett twisted his fingers, wrenching the delicate skin. Din’s gasp was loud as a shout in the silent room. It was so different from when he touched himself. Fett had to guess when it was right, when it was too much.

Din knew he could take more, but Fett let go. He hunched forward and touched the sore nipple.

“Pants down,” Fett ordered. He reached for his belt, buckled around Din’s waist.

Seeing Fett touch his own belt made Din’s stomach knot. Din would let Fett dress him and undress him as he pleased. Fett buttoned down his pants, revealing Din’s hard length. Din dripped hot against the thin cotton of his underwear, and Fett tested the soaked spot he’d left on the fabric with one fingertip. Din twitched but tried to hold back, tried to hold it together so hard his thighs quaked.

Fett hooked his thumb inside the waistband, and Din let out a strangled, quiet cry. It was too much. Fett’s bare skin on his oversensitive cock. The elastic snapped against his belly as Fett pulled away.

Din frantically sought Fett’s hand, to guide it back to where it had been, but Fett brushed him off.

“Why don’t you show me, like last time,” Fett said.

Din hadn’t recoiled this time. He’d only made a sound. That had to mean something. Fett could try again. “I can—” he started to protest.

“You want to be good for me?” Fett interrupted.

Din nodded.

“Then you’ll show me.”

Din lowered his eyes and said, “Okay.”

“What did you say?” Fett reminded him.

“Yes, Daddy,” Din corrected.

Just saying that word for Fett made his softening cock swell. The satisfied look that Fett wore upon hearing it didn’t help matters.

“Pants off, all the way. I want to see you.” After giving his command, Fett stood up and rummaged through a nightstand drawer.

Din lifted his hips and shoved his pants down in a hurry. He kicked them onto the floor, and his underwear soon followed. His bare cock stood at attention, flushed and wet at the tip, but he didn’t dare start without Fett’s explicit instruction.

When Fett straightened, he held a bottle of lubricant in hand. “Look at you,” he murmured, full of adoration. “Go ahead and touch it.” He laid the lubricant down on the bed, but instead of joining Din, he crossed to the sitting area and retrieved a chair.

Din flipped open the cap and poured the cool fluid into the palm of his hand. He let it warm up before smoothing it over his cock. He didn’t need lube, didn’t use it on his own, but if Fett wanted to see him slicked up, he wasn’t about to deny him.

Fett pulled the chair up close to the bed. Din glanced at him as he sat down in it, arms crossed and legs spread open. Heat rose to Din’s cheeks, and sweat gathered behind his knees. He was truly putting on a show, with Fett his eager audience.

Din wasn’t sure how Fett wanted him to begin, so he squeezed his cock lightly and circled his thumb around the crown. It was more of tease than anything.

“Is that how you touch yourself?” Fett asked. He sounded like he already knew the answer.

Din shook his head and bucked up into his hand. Fett wasn’t going to let him off easy, but if he handled himself like he did when he was alone, he wouldn’t last long.

The chair creaked as Fett leaned forward. “Don’t need to hold back. Show me.”

Din let his knees fall open and slid his left hand down to cup his balls. He grabbed them and tugged, knowing just how far to take it. The pain was bright but not so severe the he wouldn’t be able to endure it while he stroked himself. He twisted his wrist and a sharp bolt of it made his hips hitch. He stopped moving his hands for fear he’d come within seconds.

Fett put his elbows on the bed and steepled his hands. “That rough?”

“Mhmm,” Din huffed.

“You ever hurt your cock too?”

Din’s stomach clenched and he nodded. It wasn’t all the time. Only on those nights when he needed to forget just as much as he needed to come. He didn’t think Fett would want to see it. Most people didn’t like that sort of thing.

“Show me, now.” Fett’s voice was a forceful whisper.

Din bent his fingers, letting his dull nails bite into his shaft. The four points of pain made him hiss and he rocked his hips, not easing his grip.

Fett stood up, and Din paused his movements. He released his cock and rubbed the raised marks he’d left, savoring the echo of the pain. Fett climbed onto the bed, coming closer, until he knelt above Din. His muscled thighs flexed and he touched the front of his pants.

“Keep going,” Fett said and slipped his pants down around his hips. “Come for me.”

Din couldn’t get a deep enough breath, his inhale caught on a barb in his throat. He picked up speed, lightly abrading his shaft with licks of his fingernails. Though he was tempted to shut his eyes, he made himself look up at Fett. Fett’s mouth was a firm, determined line, but his eyes were wide and encouraging. Through his underwear, he palmed his thick length.

When the pressure on his sack became a hindrance, Din let go. His right hand glided the last few fervent strokes. He bit back a gasp. The coil inside his belly snapped, and his cock spasmed. Hot come splattered on his stomach, the remainder dribbling down his fingers and over the back of his hand.

Fett slipped his underwear below his balls and fisted his cock. It was ruddy and curved and so big that Din knew it would be a stretch to wrap his lips around it. He leaned forward, but Fett put a hand on his shoulder, pinning him to the headboard.

“Going to come on your tits,” Fett said between heaving breaths. He was wasting no time, stroking himself with a quick, light hand. “You good with that?”

“Yeah.” Din pressed his arms to his sides, pushing his chest forward a bit. He knew they were nice, knew how to make them to look even nicer when Fett came on them.

Fett let out a low rumble of a laugh. “Like being watched, don’t you.”

Din tucked his chin down, but Fett made a sound of disapproval. Din looked up in time to see Fett’s mouth fall open, and his pink tongue swept over his lower lip. Fett tilted his head back and groaned as his come painted Din’s chest. A bit of it caught Din on the face, but he didn’t wipe it away.

“Perfect like that,” Fett ground out.

When Fett finished, he stretched out beside Din. His chest was covered in a sheen of sweat, and it rose and fell fiercely. As he caught his breath, he smeared his fingertips over Din’s skin, through both of their spend. “What a mess,” he said and made it worse.

Din squirmed in agreement. The cooling come made his skin feel tight, and he wished for a washcloth.

“You want to clean up?” Fett held his hand in front of Din’s mouth.

It wasn’t what Din considered cleaning up, but he wanted to do as Fett asked. He craned his neck forward to reach the sticky palm. Fett didn’t do him the courtesy of moving any closer, so Din used the tip of his tongue to lap at the fluid. It was bitter when it hit the back of his mouth, and he swallowed a few times, knowing that Fett was observing his distaste with rapt attention. Din’s neck began to cramp, but he waited for Fett to decide when he was done.

“Good,” Fett said and wiped his damp hand on his shirt.

The pain in Din’s abdomen flared as the afterglow of his orgasm faded. He rolled onto his good side.

“You hurting?” Fett ran his knuckles over Din’s shoulder blade.

Din shivered and hugged his knees. Fett climbed off the bed before Din could form an answer. Din heard him open the door to the ‘fresher, and the tap ran for a minute.

“Can you lie on your back?” Fett asked as he returned to the bed.

Din gripped his shins so tight he thought they’d snap before complying. There were red fingerprints left on his skin, and he didn’t try to hide them. Fett met Din where he was, halfway onto his back in the far corner of the bed. He slid a hand under Din’s head and carefully lifted it so it rested on his thigh. Din’s shoulders strained as he tried to keep from weighing on Fett.

With his other hand, Fett carded through Din’s hair. It was sweat soaked and matted on one side, but he patiently worked out the tangles he encountered. Din’s scalp lit up, electric. He unclenched his jaw and let himself be fully supported by Fett.

“Let’s get you clean for real.” Fett picked up the washcloth and ran it over Din’s chest.

The wet heat soothed Din’s itchy skin. Fett scrubbed gently, careful to avoid the healing wound. When he finished, he trailed his fingers from Din’s navel to his neck, checking for any missed spots. It tickled, and Din bit his cheek to stop from twitching.

As Fett stroked the sparse hair on Din’s chest, Din’s fingers tensed. Before he could talk himself out of it, Din covered Fett’s hand with his own. His heart beat frantically underneath Fett’s palm.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Din said.

~~~

Din had insisted on sleeping in his own bed that night. He didn’t want to wake up in a terror and lash out at an unseen foe, scrape his way out of Fett’s arms. It was hard enough to let Fett see the ways he was damaged when he was conscious and supposedly in control. Sleep wasn’t safe.

Din had tried to fall asleep without the drugs, but the pain wore his patience thin, until he was buzzing with anger at his own body. He swallowed half of the dose he’d taken the night before then laid awake in bed, wondering if he was wading in too deep with Fett.

When Din had encouraged Fett to keep going, he’d known then that it might end in disaster, despite his wishful thinking. He was lucky Fett had the grit to stop him.

Fett had done more than just about anyone for him, and all he’d given in return were his aborted affections. He couldn’t bear to see the look of confusion and hurt on Fett’s face again. He could do better. He would get better.

A fitful sleep did little to relieve Din. In the morning, he waited until he heard Fett leave his quarters before slipping to the ‘fresher. Then, dressed in borrowed clothing, he wandered the palace alone.

None of the sloped hallways seemed to lead where he thought they would. The air grew chilly as he followed them down, deep underground, until he ended up at the mouth to a prison cell. A thick coat of dust covered the metal bars and the shackles driven into the floor. The smell of stale blood still hung about the place.

Din didn’t need to imagine what it was like to be locked behind the bars. He had seen the inside of enough cells, under the watch of jailers more often cruel than merciful. He knew how those shackles would feel pulling his arms taut until one shoulder popped from the socket.

He tried to retrace his steps, but all the rooms he passed looked the same—dim little caverns crammed with contraband. The halls blended into a single never-ending stretch of dun sandstone that crumbled in places. He wondered if even Fett would be able to find him down here.

After circling three times around what appeared to be the same set of rooms, an uneasy lump formed in Din’s throat. Then he heard a voice through the duct work. It was too muffled for him to make out the words, but the low timbre sounded like Fett. He yanked open a door that he’d initially thought to be a supply closet and found a steep pathway.

Up and up he climbed, following the sound of Fett’s voice. The path led to a pit beneath the throne room. There was no exit besides the grate over the ceiling, which was fastened down with heavy, rusted locks. A convenient way to lead prisoners to their fate, but no way out from the subterranean maze.

Din cupped a hand around his ear and strained to make out the words spoken above.

“Pickup’s at 1800,” Fett said.

“Excellent.” The answer came from the Mirialan who’d called on Fett the day before. “How might I contact the buyer.”

“You don’t. He pays me, I pay you.”

“I see,” the man said in a sour tone.

“Don’t like it, find your own buyer for the spice. It won’t be easy, not with that amount. But you knew that already. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come to me,” Fett lectured like the Mirialan was nothing but an inconvenience to him.

“I do appreciate your assistance, Lord Fett.”

In the long pause that followed, Din could practically hear Fett gloating.

“Well?” Fett asked.

“Say, have you seen another Mandalorian around here?”

Din felt as if someone had set a ten ton weight on his chest. He couldn’t draw in a breath. If he did, his ribs would surely break.

“No,” Fett answered without hesitation. “Why?”

“Biggest bounty in the galaxy, they say.”

“They?” Fett asked.

Din didn’t need to hear the answer. He moved as quickly as he could without drawing attention, back down the passageway. Once he was sure no one could hear his footsteps, he started to run.

He had to leave before the Empire or the cartel tracked him here. If an inept smuggler like that Mirialan had heard, every rogue with nothing to lose would be trying to smoke him out soon. He’d stayed long enough. He wouldn’t destroy what Fett had here by bringing the Empire’s lackeys down on him.


	3. Chapter 3

After a dozen wrong turns and a lightly sprained ankle, Din found his way to the armory. The things that Fett had stripped from him were still cramped inside the locker. He stepped into his boots and laced them haphazardly, his fingers uncooperative. The armor chafed with the clothes he wore, and nothing fit quite right over them. He could fix that once he made it off Tatooine. For now, he did his best to make it look he hadn’t stolen the armor from a fresh corpse.

When he buckled on his holster and grabbed the blaster from the bottom of the locker, he finally felt decent. The weight of the armor anchored him.

Din wasted no time. He followed the same route Fett had taken him down the day before, from the armory to the throne room. The Mirialan remained standing before the throne, droning on about the final details of the deal. Fennec lurked behind him, a rifle in her arms and her back to the exit.

On the throne, Fett sat with his arms crossed and one knee jostling impatiently. Din hoped that the Mirialan’s talking irritated him enough to hold his attention. The distance to the stairs was short, and Din had a shot of making out unnoticed, as long as Fett didn’t look up in his direction.

No one could hear Din breathing, but he still held his breath as he crept in the shadows toward the exit. The first dozen stairs he took on tiptoe, the rest he leapt over two at a time.

The Mirialan had left an old speeder bike waiting outside. He must have expected that it was too beat up to be worth stealing. It would have been true if Din hadn’t been so desperate to run. He hopped on it, and it sputtered to life. He prayed it wouldn’t break down before he got to Mos Eisley.

As Din maneuvered out onto the open sand dunes, he took a wide curve around Slave I. For a second, he thought of trying to steal the ship, but even if he’d wanted to disrespect Fett that way, it would be too conspicuous to fly into port. Better to take some small-time trader’s cargo ship if he wanted to stay under the radar.

The sun soaked hills blurred together as Din made his way to the port, the monotonous sand stretching out into infinity. It wasn’t a smooth ride. The bike seized and jerked, and on the fifth time that he thought the engine was about to go out, it did. He hauled the broken carcass into the brush and set off on foot.

The bright glare on his beskar made it feel like he was baking. He ignored the pain in his side and trudged along, thoroughly regretting that he hadn’t snagged a canteen on his way out. His mouth was so dry that he had to stop swallowing, otherwise he coughed until he choked.

When he crested the final hill and saw the town dotting the plateau below, Din dropped to his knees. If he’d made it this far, he could make it the final stretch to the port. After a brief rest, he dragged himself to his feet and started the descent.

The port was nearly empty, all the hangars on the periphery vacant. He’d have to risk crossing through the gate into to center of the port to find a ship. Once inside, Din stayed on the south edge, as far as he could from the hangar Peli staffed. The last thing he wanted was for someone to recognize him.

There were a few junkers with potential, and he wove between them, looking for the easiest take. He narrowed it down to an ancient freighter and took a second loop past his potential mark. Sand coated its scarred exterior, and the captain didn’t appear to be anywhere in sight.

When Din approached the hangar door, he heard footsteps behind him. Instead of entering the hangar, he took a sharp left, down the alley between two larger berths. Whoever was following did the same.

Din walked faster, not quite running, and fingered his blaster. The feet behind him pounded on the gravel. They didn’t close in, but he wasn’t gaining any distance. At the straightaway between one group of hangars and the next, Din took off running. A blaster fired at him. The bolt went wide, searing the ground.

He ran as fast as he could toward the gate to the dunes. It wasn’t fast enough. As he tore through the gate, the assailant tackled him. Din fell to the ground, groaning when the man thrust his knee to Din’s stomach just above the scabbed wound. The man whistled, and a group of three thugs appeared.

The ground seemed to ripple as Din fought through the pain. He felt for his blaster and yanked it from the holster. He managed to shoot just before the assailant knocked it from his hand. The bolt hit one of the thugs, and she yowled. Another grabbed the rifle slung to his back and pointed it at Din.

The warm metal of the barrel prodded Din under his chin. When he swallowed, Din felt it dig deeper into his bare skin. The man fingered the trigger and Din froze completely. He didn’t even blink.

“Need him alive,” one of the thugs hissed.

The man pinning him to the ground kicked him, his toe catching the deepest pit of the wound. “Up,” he barked.

Din retched and cradled his stomach. The man grabbed the scruff of Din’s neck and forced him to comply. When Din staggered to his feet, he wrenched Din’s hands behind his back and snapped heavy fetters around his wrists.

Light gleamed off the metal of Din’s blaster, half buried in the sand. Before he could move toward it, one of the men picked it up and disarmed it. Din sighed and trudged along, following the thugs out onto the dunes. These weren’t good odds. He’d have to be patient if he was going to find a way out of this.

A tiny speck of a ship was visible beyond the ridge. Din hadn’t seen it coming in. He wondered if he’d been too preoccupied to notice its presence, or if they’d simply found him that fast after landing.

The man leading the group radioed to inform the captain that the bounty was secure and to prepare for boarding. It took what felt like ages to trek across the stifling open sand. The wounded woman limped along, slowing their progress more so than Din did.

When they were close enough for Din to make out two hulking guards waiting at the ship’s entrance, a blaster bolt suddenly whistled from the hill above. It struck the woman in her uninjured leg, and she shrieked and crumpled like a jerba being picked off for sport.

The man with the rifle spun around, frantically trying to spot the shooter. He lifted his weapon, but before he pulled the trigger, a bolt tore a hole through his shoulder. The leather of his jacket was incinerated and his charred flesh smoked lightly. He made wet gasp as the next shot hit him in the stomach. Din felt a sympathetic twinge in his side and jerked to protect it, but he couldn’t do much while cuffed.

With two of the thugs incapacitated, Din thought of running, but that would make it easier for the guards to hit him. Instead, he ducked, giving the shooter a clear field to work with. The guards shouted and sprinted toward the fray. They fired blindly into the hills but were struck before they reached Din.

Din kept his head down. There was no way for him to help with his hands still locked behind his back. When the last person standing fell, the ship roared to life. He clenched his jaw, and the vibration shook his teeth, like the ship’s thrusters were burrowing into his skull.

After watching their company be destroyed, those on board the ship cut their losses and took off. Din couldn’t cover his ears, so he pressed one to his shoulder and hoped for the best with the other. A swift gust of sand invaded the neck of his shirt, and the ship thundered into the atmosphere.

Some of the bodies that circled Din were glassy eyed, but other still twitched and whimpered. The hobbled woman lifted her hand, reaching for a savior who wasn’t coming. A bolt to the head put her out of her misery.

Din sat up and shuffled on his knees away from the bodies. A man in black and green neared, his form appearing to warp on the shimmering sand.

“Who cuffed you?” Fett asked.

“Guy in the blue jacket,” Din croaked.

Fett kicked the man in the back. When he didn’t move, Fett turned him over and rifled through his jacket. He pulled a set of keys from the pocket, then approached Din. Din turned around and lifted his arms so Fett didn’t have to crouch. He would never come close to paying Fett back for this, but be could make things easier in little ways.

Fett unlocked him then threw the fetters toward the corpse of the man who’d caught him. Din stretched his cramping shoulders. He almost said thank you, but that would be so inadequate it would border on absurd. He kept his mouth shut and accepted the hand Fett offered.

“You wounded?” Fett said and helped him to his feet.

Din shook his head. Maybe a few bruised ribs, but nothing compared to how Fett had found him last time.

“What were you thinking?” Fett scolded in a cutting tone. He turned and started walking toward the ridge, letting Din trail after him.

Din’s chest ached, and it had nothing to do with the injuries he’d sustained. The depth of his mistake dawned on him. “They’re looking for me. Must have tracked me here,” he said.

Fett stopped and faced Din. “You think I don’t know that?”

Din nearly tripped over his own foot. “You’re not safe with me. They’ll follow me to the palace. It’s as good as a target on your back.”

“Safe with you?” Fett snapped. “Do you know how many people would take me out if they had the chance?”

For a moment, Din wished that the bounty hunters had taken him. Then he wouldn’t have had to witness how badly he’d hurt Fett. He pushed those thoughts aside, ashamed of considering that kind of cowardice. “I don’t want to add to that number,” he said hesitantly.

Fett’s chest heaved as he sighed. “It doesn’t mean much to add to a number that big. There’s nowhere I’d be safe. Not completely.”

Din dug the toe of his boot into the sand. He’d spent so much time hunting others, he wasn’t used to being the hunted. He should have asked for Fett’s advice instead of running.

“I don’t know if there’s anywhere I could hide either,” Din said. “Not now that the Empire’s put a price on my head.”

“Just figure out where you want to be and stay there then.”

Din knew precisely where he wanted to be. “What about here?” he offered.

Fett looked at the way Din’s fingers drummed against the beskar plate on his thigh. He pressed his gloved hand to Din’s, stopping him from fidgeting. “Sounds like a good place to me,” he said.

Din turned his hand over, and Fett laced their fingers together. He tugged, and Din walked beside him, up to the ridge where his speeder was parked.

~~~

They rode back to the palace in silence. Din reclined in the speeder and watched the twin suns sink toward the horizon, casting the canyon they traversed in brilliant gold. Fett kept one hand on Din’s thigh the whole ride, like he wanted to make sure Din was still there.

Din was grateful to Fett in a way that words couldn’t express. He thought of the bodies Fett had shot down, left behind to grow cold in the dark of night. Whoever found them tomorrow would spread the tale through Mos Eisley—a warning for any who came after. There was no telling how long they had before someone tracked Din to the palace, but for now, he’d savor the reprieve.

Fett slowed the speeder and coasted into place beside the high tower. Before he opened the door, he leaned over to rest his helmet against Din’s. Din tilted his head so they met in an equal exchange.

“I want you,” Fett said and palmed the front of Din’s pants.

“Please, Daddy.” Din had no trouble saying the word now. He lifted his hips to seek the brief friction before the hand disappeared. He would give Fett that, no matter how difficult it was. He wouldn’t let fear hold him back, and he wouldn’t let Fett stop until he got what he wanted.

On the walk to Fett’s quarters, each of them stripped off their armor. They dropped it in a pile on the sitting room floor, and once the door slid shut, Fett slammed Din against it. The durasteel was unyielding on his spine. When Fett pinned Din’s hands above his head, Din’s breath hitched and his cock swelled. Fett let go, and Din kept his hands in place, just as if Fett held them there.

Fett’s fingers were vicious, pulling Din’s shirt down to expose his shoulder. The fabric tore, and he pressed an open mouthed kiss to Din’s neck. His teeth nipped, lightly at first, and Din gasped at the abrasion. Then his incisors closed, trapping the delicate skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder between his teeth. Blood rushed to Din’s cock as he felt his pulse beat against Fett’s lips. He rolled his hips, seeking to find Fett’s own hardness. Fett shoved a knee between Din’s legs and trapped his cock against his belly.

Fett pulled back long enough to whisper, “Go ahead. Show me that you want it.”

Din closed his eyes to gather his courage. He tentatively slid against Fett, the wet head of his cock slick on his abdomen. Fett pressed harder, higher with his thigh and mouthed sore kisses along Din’s shoulder. Din began to rock his hips in a steady rhythm. His chest heaved against Fett’s as he ground his swollen cock into Fett’s pants.

“That’s it,” Fett said. “Don’t hold back.”

He felt so lewd, rutting against Fett like an animal in heat. But it was what Fett wanted, and because of that, Din took pride in making himself into a spectacle, panting as his thighs shook with effort. The pressure wasn’t ideal, and he wanted to slip a hand between their bodies to stroke himself properly. He didn’t dare. There were easier ways to come, but it wouldn’t be good if it was easy.

Fett slid his hands under the hem of Din’s shirt. He pulled it up over Din’s head and left it to tangle around his forearms as a makeshift binding. Din kept his hands high above his head, though his shoulders began to protest.

Fett put his lips to Din’s ear and spoke softly. “Going to come for me, sweetheart? Make a mess in your pants?”

Din’s stomach clenched. He’d never get used to Fett saying things like that. He nodded against Fett’s cheek, and Fett circled Din’s neck with the broad span of his hand. He pressed Din firmly to the door by his throat. Din swallowed against the weight of Fett’s hand. He could still breathe, but the air whistled when it passed Fett’s grip. All the little sounds Fett made were amplified in Din’s ears as his body went on alert. Fett brought his forefinger and thumb together on either side of Din’s windpipe, limiting his blood supply for a second before letting go.

Din’s eyes flew open, and he sucked in a deep breath. Fett’s dark gaze was filled with rapture as he watched Din arch against the door. Din’s cock seized and he pulsed in his pants, equal parts pleasure and relief bursting inside him. His come seeped through the fabric, and when Fett pulled away, Din could see the wet spot he’d left on Fett’s pants.

“So good for me,” Fett said. He stepped back, giving Din a moment to collect himself.

Din shrugged out of his shirt and approached Fett. He didn’t need space; he needed Fett. He reached for Fett’s shirt, but Fett brushed his hands aside. Instead, Fett unbuttoned Din’s pants and pulled them down to his knees. After after Din eased off his boots, he obediently stepped out of them, then followed Fett as he walked to the bedroom.

Fett quickly peeled off his own clothes, revealing the thick, muscled expanse of his chest. He settled on the bed, and his hard cock jutted out beneath the curve of his stomach. When Din approached, Fett snatched his wrist and pulled him so he toppled into his lap. Din ran his hands over the scarred skin on Fett’s back, aching to heal it, though that was impossible.

Din nosed Fett’s jaw, and Fett turned to catch his lips in a tender kiss. There was no insistence behind it. There was only the steady warmth of Fett bared down to his hidden softness.

Din broke the kiss and climbed off of Fett’s lap. As he stretched out on his back, a pang of sorrow hit him. He’d come so close to ruining everything. Giving Fett this wouldn’t make things right, but if it helped even a tiny bit, it would be worth it.

Fett sat where Din had left him, waiting patiently with his hands clasped together. Din brought his heels to rest on the bed and spread his thighs. Fett gave him a questioning look, and Din slid a hand between his legs to test his entrance. His climax had left him pliant, and he slipped a finger past the tight ring of muscle with ease, though his finger was nothing was nothing compared to Fett’s length.

“You ready for that?” Fett asked.

Din had no idea when he’d truly be ready. He couldn’t wait forever. “Yes, Daddy,” he said.

Fett’s skeptical brow relaxed at the affectionate name. “You’ve done it before? Haven’t you?” he asked, not willing to give in just yet.

Din couldn’t bear to look at Fett as he nodded. It had been a while, but was he really so awkward as to appear untouched?

Fett crawled up the bed and knelt between Din’s legs. He put his hands to Din’s knees and pressed them open wider, until the stretch was almost too much. As he trailed his fingers along the inside of Din’s thighs, Din flexed his legs, trying to stop from closing them.

Fett frowned and tilted his head in question.

“Just ticklish,” Din said. It was true, though not the reason why he was squirming.

Fett gave a decisive nod. “From now on, you tell me if you want to stop. Otherwise I’ll keep going.” He dug his fingers into the meat of Din’s thighs, and Din jerked under his grip. “Even if you struggle.”

At the notion of Fett overpowering him, Din’s skin sparked hot all over. He had no intention of stopping Fett. If he struggled, Fett could fuck him through it.

Fett’s hands delved deeper, reaching the crease between Din’s thighs and his ass. To avoid flinching, Din focused on the pleasant heft of Fett’s body looming over his. He admired the swell of his pectoral muscles and brushed his hands against the warm skin.

Fett lifted Din’s legs to rest on his shoulders, keeping him splayed open while he pressed his thumbs to either side of his hole. Din gasped as Fett stretched him apart, his thumbs insistent at his rim, like they might slip inside him dry.

The dark look that flashed in Fett’s eyes made Din believe that was what he wanted. But before panic could set in, Fett pulled back and grabbed the lube from the nightstand. Din knew he wouldn’t be able to take him like that tonight, but maybe, someday, Fett would be able to hurt him with just his cock.

Fett slicked the fingers on his right hand then pressed two to Din’s hole. It burned as Fett penetrated him, and he didn’t take it slow. Din clenched against the intrusion, but his cock twitched with interest.

Fett tried to scissor his fingers to work Din apart. He couldn’t spread them far. “Sweetheart, it won’t be good if you’re this tight,” he said.

Din grabbed fistfuls of the comforter. He was so sick of how his body refused to cooperate. Fett had been infinitely patient with him. He couldn’t disappoint him now that they’d gotten this far.

Fett rested his left hand on Din’s stomach. He traced soothing shapes above his curls until Din was able to relax. “That’s it,” he said and stretched his fingers wider.

It still burned, but in a way that made Din curl his toes and shift up to meet Fett’s fingers as they speared into him. Once he could slip easily in and out, Fett removed his hand. He wiped it off then squeezed lube onto the already dripping head of his cock. The wet sound that Fett’s hand made as he slicked himself had Din raising his hips in plea.

Fett lined himself up at Din’s entrance and slowly sank forward. The stretch brought a whine from Din’s throat. It was breathy and sounded like it came from someone far younger than Din. Fett didn’t stop until his pelvis was flush with Din’s. He stretched Din so completely that tears gathered in the corners of Din’s eyes. His hole fluttered around Fett, and his hands scrabbled for purchase against the slats on the headboard.

“So pretty struggling on my cock,” Fett said.

He pulled back until he was halfway seated inside Din, then rolled forward in a single swift movement. Din’s legs kicked against the bed. He didn’t want to fight it. He wanted Fett just where he was, splitting him apart, but he couldn’t help it.

Fett pried Din’s fingers from the headboard. Din’s hands opened and closed, grasping around nothing as Fett thrust into him once more. Fett pressed Din’s arms to the pillow and held them there, putting his weight behind it.

“Might make it easier to take, if you can’t get away,” Fett said and dug his fingers deeper into the thin skin of Din’s wrists.

Din let out a soft moan as Fett’s nails bit into him. He flexed his fingers just to see if Fett would loosen his grip. He didn’t. Din was pinned in place, nowhere to go. Fett was going to hold him down until he was done with him. A thrill ran through him at the knowledge that Fett liked him like this, helpless.

Din’s mouth fell open as Fett pounded the breath out of him. It did get easier to take, now that Fett had him trapped. Din hooked his legs over Fett’s and rocked with him, flickers of pleasure coursing through his body when Fett brushed against the right spot. Enough time had passed that his cock grew fully hard. It throbbed against his belly, ignored.

Fett looked down at him with adoration that Din wouldn’t have thought him capable of a few weeks ago. Din lifted his head off the pillow to press his lips to Fett’s. Fett’s chin trembled against Din’s as he came close to finishing. With a few more thrusts, he gasped into Din’s mouth. His hips stuttered then stilled, and he filled Din.

When his breathing had calmed, Fett released Din’s wrists and rolled onto his side. “You took it well,” he said.

Din reveled in the praise as Fett’s hand played between his legs, measuring the come that dripped out of his slack hole. Din’s cock was still hard, but neither of them did anything about it.

Instead, Din inspected the red indentations Fett’s fingers had left on his skin. The bruises might last until tomorrow, but in a few days, they’d be a memory. He hoped Fett would be willing to put them back.

~~~

When Din joined Fett in the armory, Fett was already dressed, and Din’s beskar plate was laid out waiting for him. The blood and grit it had accumulated was gone, and it gleamed like it had been recently polished.

Din picked up his helmet, then immediately set it down. “It’ll be a little obvious,” he said.

“So what?” Fett replied.

He’d been spotted as soon as he walked in to Mos Eisley wearing his armor. Word would spread. And the criminals who sought Fett’s assistance would sell him out in a second for a bounty that size.

“What’s the point?” Din asked. “You said you didn’t need a bodyguard.”

“I don’t. But I know you won’t feel right without it.”

Fett placed a hand on Din’s helmet and nudged it toward him. Din took it in his hands and studied the beskar, unmarred through all it had suffered. He’d gotten used to Fett seeing his face within the confines of his quarters, but the idea of standing bare-faced in front of strangers made him feel sick. It would be wrong for anyone but Fett to witness him unarmored.

Din settled the helmet on his head, and the weight of it felt better than right. The rest of the armor easily fell into place. When he was dressed, he corrected his posture, having been unaware how he’d taken to slouching without it. Before they left the armory, Fett stopped him to adjust his pauldrons, ensuring they were even on his shoulders.

Din followed Fett to the entrance of the palace and out into the bright midday sun. He squinted as his eyes adjusted, though his visor protect him from the worst of the glare.

Where the rocky outcrop met the sand, Fennec was engaged in an argument with an angry Trandoshan. The reptile gestured from his speeder to the palace entrance, but Fennec raised her hands to bar him from coming any closer. Fett kicked up sand as he marched to Fennec, and Din jogged to catch up.

“What’s going on?” Fett shouted.

“Lord Fett, I have something for you,” the reptile hissed.

“I don’t think so,” Fennec said.

The reptile protested, “I’ve been trying to—”

Fett cut him off. “You having trouble grasping what she said?”

“Unless you have someone to vouch for you, we’re not doing business,” Fennec elaborated, her hands perched on her hips.

Din caught Fennec’s eye, and between the narrow gap in her visor, he saw it flick to the reptile’s right ankle.

When the reptile reached down toward the concealed holster, Din took a step in front of Fett. He pulled his blaster out, but Din was faster on the draw, shooting him in the shoulder before he could put his finger on the trigger. The reptile howled and sank to his knees. Din kept his blaster trained on his head.

From behind, Fett rested his hand on the back of Din’s neck. He squeezed the unarmored skin, and Din pulled the trigger again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I've been toying with a followup concept for this, but I'm a slow writer so I can't make promises.  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sinnotalone)


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